


Goodnight

by ArdenInTheGarden



Category: Smile For Me (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse with a belt, Emotional Abuse, Emotional Distance, Funeral, Mention of blood, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-30 08:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20768096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArdenInTheGarden/pseuds/ArdenInTheGarden
Summary: Habit sees his parents again for the first time since he left home





	Goodnight

Habit stared at the old building with dread and disgust, the crumpled letter caught between his long fingers. He was shaking, and he mumbled a curse as he shoved the paper away into his pocket. This was certainly a bad idea, but no one had responded when he reached out. All he’d received back were a handful of lawsuits and a scathing letter from Kamal informing him that he was, in fact, the scum of the Earth and ought to rot for the pain he caused. He was right, of course. Perhaps that’s why when he had received the letter from his parents, he’d agreed to come. He deserved a little pain of his own.

With long, loping strides, Boris climbed the steps, taking a second to gather himself before he finally knocked on the door and slipped inside. He knew better than to wait to be invited in, even if it took nearly forty years to finally sink in that he would never be welcome in that home.

The house was the same as the day he left, aside from one glaring exception. All family photos involving him were gone, replaced with just his mother and father. It was as if he had never existed in the family, and despite everyone’s insistence on never speaking of him, there was still the lingering sense that something was missing. Him.

On the sofa sat his mother, still as refined and proper and distant as ever. Her hair and makeup were flawless, just as they always were. She had an image to keep up, after all. Even in her age, she was still impeccably groomed, done up as if she were prepared to meet clients, though he knew they had quit their practises long ago. They had retired as respected medical professionals in the town, and had hoped the same of him. No. Not hoped. There was no hope between her or him.

Beside her in a faded armchair, his father was still perched, right where he always was. He felt the dread wash over him once again at the sight of them, and particularly that damned chair. He couldn’t recall how many times he had been made to kneel in front of it, waiting to take his licks and be shoved back off to his bedroom.

“[It’s good to see you again].” The greeting was too formal, too stiff, and it fell clumsily from his mouth. He hadn’t said it in so long, the gears of his mother tongue rusted and grinding together in agony as he scrambled to gather it all back in his mind so he could converse, and--his father held up a hand to silence him, instead pointing at the ground in front of him with an all too familiar gesture.

His blood was frozen as it ran sluggishly through his veins, threatening to stop altogether as his knees made contact with the worn carpeting. Even as an adult, the all-consuming guilt and fear attempted to overtake him as he removed his hat and bowed his head. He opened his mouth, and began to recite the apology from memory. “I’m terribly sorry, [Father], [Mother], for I’ve brought you shame. I will never again put your dreams in jeopardy with my foolishness, and my wicked desire for independence. You know best, and always have, and I am a blight on the family for disagreeing with you. If you forgive me and accept me back, I will never again do this and risk what you have worked for.”

He was met with neither belt nor fist, but rather with the sobbing of his mother, her hands rising to bury her face. “Why have you done this to us, Boris? Why didn’t raise you like this! We gave you everything, we--” She fell into her tears, unable to continue speaking. His father picked up where she left off.

“You have shamed us, Boris. We raised you to be a strong man, to carry on our legacy, and instead you do THIS!?” A newspaper slammed to the floor, pages scattering but the front page article still clear to read: “Local Doctor Drowning In Suits After Retreat Closed”. “We raised you to be a respectable man, not a fool with no one in town willing to look at him! Look at yourself! Your clothing is silly, your hair too long to ever look decent, your shoes heeled like those of a woman--what’s wrong with you? You’ll take our money but not our legacy? None of our former colleagues will speak to us! Because of YOU!”

“Brendan, he--”

“Flaminia, not another word. He needs to be reminded of his place in life.” The sound of a belt being undone sent chills down the dentist’s spine, and he braced himself just as he had as a child. He knew what was going to happen. Slowly, with shaking hands, he slid off his coat, and undid the buttons of his shirt. They were thrown across the room from him, his father glowering at him as he brandished the belt. It made contact with his skin, and despite himself Boris cried out.

“Did I say you could speak? Stay quiet!” With a swift kick, Boris was shoved flat against the ground, limbs bent uncomfortably as he tried to fight the urge to push himself back to his knees. “You’re a DISGRACE! You DISGUST me! You will NEVER be worthy of ANYTHING!” Each statement was punctuated with a strike, and blood ran down over his back, dotting the pages of newspaper and blotting out his photograph.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Boris choked on his own tears, grabbing onto his father’s ankles and craning his neck to make eye contact. But he refused. “Father, I’m sorry! It was an accident! I was just trying to help them, they didn’t understand, I never meant to hurt anyone!”

“No. We will never understand you, but this will be the last time you ever do this to us. Flaminia, go to your sister’s house. Don’t come back until the morning.” His father’s voice was cold as the volume on the TV was turned up almost painfully loud. The older woman looked between them with grief and disgust before gathering her purse and leaving the home.

\-------------------

The papers picked up the story the next day. The local dentist under scrutiny for his role in the theft of body parts and holding nearly two dozen people against their will was found dead in his parents’ home. An apparent suicide. There was no evidence, nor was there an investigation, merely a letter sent out to each victim informing them that they would receive partial restitution for their suffering from Mr. Boris Habit’s estate once it was settled.

Brendan and Flaminia stood beside the casket, dressed in all black as was the custom. Sunglasses hid their eyes, but nothing hid the ghost of a smile that played on each of their lips as they stood. The service had ended with no one in attendance other than them, just as they had expected. Boris hadn’t had any friends, nor any contacts left within the community after this debacle. They would wait a few more minutes before going home, knowing their shame was behind them.

A tall, slender woman approached nervously. She didn’t speak, but with great reverence she unslung the camera from around her neck and left it beside the grave. She stood opposite of them, her head bowed and her hands clasped respectfully in front of her. Soon another one approached, a young man this time, with the same silly, long hair as their son had had. He left a painting of a vibrant field of flowers before backing up to stand beside the woman and take her hand.

And so it went, with new people approaching, leaving an item, and going to stand with the others. A child left a boxing glove. A man in full clown attire left a locket. An elderly man left a fishing lure. A burly young lad a teddy bear. A teen a golf club. Each one approached the casket, nodded to it, set down a small trinket, and went to stand with the others in reverent silence.

The last to join them was one they recognized--the florist’s child, who had provided the wreath and all the floral arrangements free of charge. None of them spoke. There wasn’t any reason to. All eyes were on the florist’s child as they laid a single lily on top of the casket and joined the group. The “grieving” parents recognized it--it was the flower Boris had tried growing all those years ago.

The group of them outnumbered his family by a significant margin, and finally the child spoke. “You can leave, now. We had our difficulties, but only his family should be here.” It was the first time they had ever spoken, and the ragtag group of them didn’t take that lightly. They all stood a bit taller, a fire ignited in their hearts.

They were taken aback by the boldness of the statement, and Brendan took a threatening step forward. “How could you say that to us in our time of mourning? We are his family, whether he was too ungrateful to see it or not.”

“Blood is thicker than the water of the womb. You need to leave. Now.” 

The pair of them slowly left the premises, disgusted by their treatment. Boris had always been one to attract the worst of all people.

“We’re sorry we sent you back to them. I hope you forgive us.” Flower Kid was gentle as they patted the hefty container that dwarfed them with its size. “Goodnight, flower hero.”


End file.
